“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say as I’m driving you wild.
“I respect you,” I say with a sly little smile.
But how am I respecting you?
I’d really love to know,
when I just want you to hold me,
keep me warm in this snow.
What if my words are just words?
And people are my vice?
Do you like that I may not be totally nice?
Maybe you like that I’m a wicked little witch.
Maybe it’s the trouble that makes you feel rich.